Roxanne
by Trenchdigger
Summary: OK, I was watching El Tango de Roxanne and I did some research and found there is actually a story to it. So, I wrote it down. Enjoy!
1. Fille de joie

Disclaimer: Alrighty, my second fanfic. I still haven't finished the first one. I would like to explain where I got this idea. So, El Tango de Roxanne actually has a story to it, right. If you watch them dancing, you can tell. I'm going to write this story out for y'all to read, kay? So here goes. Oh, yeah, and Baz Luhrmann and John "Cha-Cha" O'Connell own the dance but I own the characters. This one is for Gilly-Bean, Rachy-Lou, Fal and Brown-Eyes for reviewing my stuff. Thank-you. Love Sophie-Lou. xxx.  
  
Roxanne.  
  
Fille de joie  
  
It was the middle of the night. A broken vase lay on the floor and Jack could hear her packing next door. She was crying as well. They had had another argument and she had screamed that she hated him and she was leaving and not coming back. He believed her. Ironically, "Don't worry be Happy" was blaring out of the radio. She pushed past him.  
  
"You've gotta sort yourself out, Jack." She said and left. That was yet another failed relationship down the drain. Jack sat down at the kitchen table for a minute before going to the fridge and downing the entire contents of a bottle of gin. Bad idea. He collapsed on the couch and slept the alcohol off.  
  
***  
  
It was late afternoon when Jack awoke to he sound of Abba blasting "Dancing Queen" on the radio and Nicholas Denvy, his best friend banging on the door. He heaved himself off the couch and went to answer the door.  
  
"God, Jack!" Nick shouted at him, "How long does it take? I've been knocking for fifteen minutes!"  
  
"Sod off."  
  
"That's no way to greet your best friend is it? I got a call from Julie last night. She said you threw a vase at her head. She left, right?"  
  
"Yeah." Jack said and stepped aside to let Nicholas in.  
  
"Well, I've got just the thing," Nick cried, leaping onto the decade- old chair, which promptly collapsed under him. "Oops," he said, "sorry."  
  
Jack sighed and fetched two beers out of the fridge, throwing one at Nick. "We're going to New York." Nick said suddenly.  
  
"OK." Jack sighed again and stood up, "I'll go get my stuff, shall I?" Nick sat up bolt upright.  
  
"What? You mean you're just gonna come? Just like that?"  
  
Jack shrugged  
  
"May as well, I've not got much to keep me here, have I? Let's go." He packed a small duffle bag and within half an hour they were in Nick's shocking pink Mustang, heading for Heathrow airport.  
  
***  
  
It was hot in New York. Really hot. Well over ninety degrees and Jack was sweating like a pig. He heaved his duffel of the conveyer belt and walked out. Nick had hailed a cab.  
  
"Any idea where we're gonna stay?" Jack asked him and watched as Nick leant forward and directed the driver to the Mandolin Club. "The What What?" Jack asked, frowning.  
  
"A friend of mine works there." Nick said shortly and slumped back in his seat.  
  
It only took ten minutes to reach the Mandolin Club. Jack was astounded. It was absolutely massive. His entire flat could fit in the entrance hall. It was a little seedy, granted, but the sheer size of the thing over-rode everything. They passed through the entrance hall and into the club itself. It was almost pitch black, only strobe light illuminating the dance floor. Jack and Nicholas felt their way to the bar where Jack immediately ordered a double scotch. It had been a long day. Nick started talking to the barman. He turned.  
  
"We're sorted." He said and turned to watch the band of people jumping about to the music. After about five minutes a girl came up to Nick.  
  
"Denvy?" she looked at him questioningly.  
  
"Martha!" he cried when he saw her.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked and hugged him.  
  
"We need a place to bunk." Nick said, straight to the point, as always.  
  
"Well, sure, you can stay at mine." Martha said, just as two other girls walked up to them.  
  
"Who's this then?" one of them asked Martha. She grinned.  
  
"This is my very good friend, Nick Denvy and this is…?" she stared at Jack.  
  
"Jack, Jack Winslett."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Jack. I'm Martha and these are my friends, KiKi and Roxanne." He turned to them and saw the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Roxanne.  
  
  
  
End of Chapter One. Review and tell me what you think. Love, Sophie-Lou. xxx. 


	2. Cocotte

Disclaimer: OK, some people didn't get the lat chapter, but that's alright, just bear with me. It gets good from now on, I promise. This one is for Megan, Zidler's Chick, Brown-Eyes, SevenSparkles and Spawkwing Diamond. Thank you guys for reviewing. A bien tout! Love Sophie-Lou. xxx.  
  
Roxanne  
  
Cocotte  
  
She was stunning. Absolutely beautiful. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She beamed at him.  
  
"What you looking at, huh?" she asked, giggling a little.  
  
"Nothing," he said, trying to clear his head, "Sorry."  
  
"I don't mind, I'm used to it." She replied and pulled up a stool next to him.  
  
"Why's that?" Jack asked, still a little taken aback that she was so confident. She ordered a Buck's Fizz from the barman; a young man named Roger, and turned back to him.  
  
"Because I get looked at a lot in my line of work." Roxanne laughed again and took a sip of her drink.  
  
"Oh!" Jack cried, thinking he understood, "Are you a model?" Roxanne had been gulping down some more drink, but spat it out when she heard him.  
  
"A model!" she shouted, on the verge of hysterics, "A model!" she calmed down a little and placed her glass back on the bar. "Sweetie," she said, leaning closer into him, "I'm a cocotte." Jack frowned. He wasn't exactly one of the sharpest tool s in the knife drawer and he didn't quite understand what a cocotte was.  
  
"A what?" he shouted over the club music.  
  
"A cocotte." She repeated, but seeing the confused look on his face, elaborated a little. "You know, a bawd, brass, call girl, camp follower, courtesan, fallen woman, fille de joie, harlot, hooker, hustler, loose woman, moll, pro, street-walker, strumpet, tart, trollop, white slave or whore?" A look of recognition dawned on his face and she giggled when he scooted away a little. "Do you understand now, baby?"  
  
"Oh my God! You mean you're a…" he paused a little and whispered the last word, "prostitute."  
  
"Got it in one, sweetheart!" she said and threw herself onto the dance floor, leaving poor Jack in a state of shock.  
  
End of Chapter 2. Tell me what you think, flames will be used for toasting marshmallows so I don't mind if I get any. See y'all around. Love S-L. xxx. 


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